you don’t finish it, it can still make a difference.
This morning’s must read, courtesy of The Writer’s Almanac.
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
— excerpt from Starlings in Winter by Mary Oliver
When one door closes, another opens: but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us. — Alexander Graham Bell
Not sure why that quote seemed so appropriate while I was coming this way to link this article but there you go. Sometimes companies and people hold onto the old way, the old thing a little too long or a little too tightly and so miss the direction or possibilities the universe is offering them. Guilty as charged. Even small changes can make a big difference or keep you in shape to be open to future options.
In the NYTimes comes an article about the game-changing effect of the iPhone and specifically the world of apps. While some companies would be doing it differently, the article points out that by encouraging developers to write for this market and yet maintaining control over the quality of user experience, Apple has made this very successful.
It’s good to be in touch with the past and hold onto the best parts and folk we know, good to be masterful and experienced in somethings and yet be willing to meet new people and try new things.
Made me think back to that fateful day when the first iPod was announced and the whole world seemed different because of the new possibilities.
The snow made it beautiful – small bits of glistening when the sun appeared. Last night I thought – hmmm chilly. More than chilly. Part of it was it being late night, late enough that the thermostat had clicked off. The cats were more than glad to nestle in amongst the folds of blankets but none of them are under-the-covers types. Miss that and the cats who enjoyed it. Woke up this morning to some beautiful paintings by Jack Frost on the one window where he always does his thing. And yes, it felt chilly because it was 26F – winter making its claim on this part of the world.
Over the weekend I made pizza again using one of the balls of dough from post-Thanksiving. Being kept (technically, retarded) in the ‘frig it had grown a little but not a lot. I was curious if it would be relaxed enough to overcome some of the problems I’d caused. It did relax a bit but was still more of a thick crust. That I know how to fix. The other partially whole wheat version I popped into the freezer for future pizza enjoyment.
Also better done this time was more warm up time for the oven to make sure the temp was maxed before the pizza hit the stone.
Yeah! for homemade pizza in all its simple pleasure and tastiness. Saturday’s included fresh mozzarella, homemade sauce and what the heck, a few pepperoni!
After my brief jaunt this morning during which I: got my flu shot (H1N1, dead variety; thanks Mom!), tried to get money from my regular ATM which wouldn’t scan my card, went inside and got money; apparently left my card; card found by next customer, turned in, shredded, new card ordered, um thanks; got a nice breakfast while all that was happening; found out I’d be leading the card-free life for a bit; I then came home no longer in the mood to grocery or other shop.
Once here I went with the plan of tucking away all the old shutters into a back building. Most are in good shape except for paint.
While I ferried the shutters, two by two from where the painter had left them to where they’ll be a little safer, I heard a noise. Unmistakable really. Looked up just in time to see an equally unmistakable small object go past my face. Yes folks! Winter has officially arrrived as evidenced by snow.
In honor of that unmistakable sound, I present to you a familiar poem:
The Onset
Always the same, when on a fated night
At last the gathered snow lets down as white
As may be in dark woods, and with a song
It shall not make again all winter long
Of hissing on the yet uncovered ground,
I almost stumble looking up and round,
As one who overtaken by the end
Gives up his errand, and lets death descend
Upon him where he is, with nothing done
To evil, no important triumph won,
More than if life had never been begun.Yet all the precedent is on my side:
I know that winter death has never tried
The earth but it has failed: the snow may heap
In long storms an undrifted four feet deep
As measured against maple, birch, and oak,
It cannot check the peeper’s silver croak;
And I shall see the snow all go down hill
In water of a slender April rill
That flashes tail through last year’s withered brake
And dead weeds, like a disappearing snake.
Nothing will be left white but here a birch,
And there a clump of houses with a church.Robert Frost
The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.
